


A Cat's The Only Cat Who Knows How To Swing

by homo_lesbiens



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: And The Hargreeves Are Dumb, At Canon Level, But I Make Them Healthy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, The Cat is Cute, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, unhealthy family dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-18 15:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_lesbiens/pseuds/homo_lesbiens
Summary: Klaus makes a friend, and the timeline quivers.Or, The One Where Cat Cuddles Cure All





	1. Dumpster Diving and Furry Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CheerfullyCynical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheerfullyCynical/gifts).



Klaus makes his first and only non-family friend when he is twelve. And he’s not dumb, so of course he knows where you find the best friends: down sketchy alleyways, chilling on/under/around dumpsters.

After all, this is the strategy that had gotten him his first blunt. And this particular alley was the one where his ghosts melted away for the first time, leaving him breathless and choking on smoke but _alonealonethankyoualone_. And maybe Klaus had made kind of a habit of it, of the smoking, but it’s only weed for now, and it works. It’s basically medicinal, what with the way it seems to solve every problem he has.

He’s only a little fuzzy when he hears something rattling around in the dumpster. Klaus takes another instinctive hit, before he realizes that there were no ghosts around to rattle said dumpster, and he relaxes just that much more.

The living don’t scare him. It’s why dad has to haul him to—to—well, away. Whenever he needs training. 

The dumpster rattles again. “Freaky,” he says. “And that’s me saying that, so it means something.”

The dumpster pauses for a moment. It hisses.

Klaus nods, and tilts his head back so it’s resting against the wall. He grins. “Right on.”

They stay like that for a while. Him, breathing and focusing on the emptiness of the world around him. The dumpster, and it’s intermittent hissy fits. Maybe a few minutes pass like that. Maybe more than a few minutes. Maybe more than a few hours.

Klaus rolls his head forward, and immediately digs his fingers into his neck to try to work out the crick there. He stands, and says, “Well, this has been great. See you next time shit gets bad. Tomorrow, maybe.”

When he turns to leave, the dumpsters lets out a very sad mew.

Klaus stops. “Mew?” He asks, just to be sure.

The dumpster is silent, and then _mew-mew-mew-mew_.

 _There is a cat in there_ , Klaus decides. _And it sounds very, very tiny. A tiny baby dumpster cat._

He doesn’t make a conscious decision to open the dumpster, but those are definitely his hands shoving the lid up and getting smeared with grime in the process.

There, at the bottom of the empty dumpster, was a little ball of black fluff. Its fur looks damp and matted, and its face is tilted up towards him with its eyes closed. “Mew,” it pleads.

Klaus hurriedly wipes his hands off on his slightly-very-disheveled uniform and tries to reach into the dumpster for the kitten. When he proves too short for that, he huffs and clambers into the body of the dumpster, taking care not to step on the little baby fluff.

The kitten must’ve heard the commotion, because it frantically wiggles until it’s tucked right into the corner furthest from him, almost disappearing. Klaus sends a brief and apologetic thought to Mom for what he’s about to do to her laundry efforts, and then he sits right down in the trashbin.

He crosses his legs and stretches his hand out towards his dumpster-buddy.

“What’s a classy babe like you doing in a dump like this?” He coos, waving his right hand a little under the kitten’s nose. “I swear I don’t usually smell like this, don’t hold it against me.”

The kitten bumps its nose against his index finger, before pulling back comically. It creeps forward again, this time licking a little.

Klaus can feel his heart growing a few sizes, _a la_ the Grinch. “Hey little buddy, that’s it! It’s just me and you, and both of us are cool. Can I pet you? Please let me pet you.”

The kitten shoves its entire face into Klaus’ hand, which he takes as consent to run a few fingers down it’s too-small, vaguely-sticky body. “I’m in love with you,” he murmured. As if in response, the fluff takes a few shaky steps forward until it practically faceplants into his knee.

Klaus carefully scoops the cat up into his hands— _it fits in the palms of his hands!_ — and brings it up to his face. The kitten wastes no time in wiping its grimy and sticky fluff-cheek against his skin. Now, Klaus is no Five, but he does know what scent-marking is. This tiny thing has claimed _Klaus as its own_.

The last person who did that was Dad, twelve years ago, and that was only because Klaus was born a freak. 

“I think that we’re probably soulmates,” he says, lips rubbing against fur. “You were born and abandoned in a dumpster, I was probably born in a dumpster and abandoned to a billionaire.”

The kitten mews, and Klaus nuzzles his nose against its chin. 

“I’m Klaus. And Number Four. But I’m your Klaus, ‘cause you don’t have any other numbers.”

A tiny baby purr erupts out of the kitten. Klaus kisses it again. “But if you did have other numbers—I’m your One, probably. Yeah?”

The fluffpile doesn’t respond, but Klaus can hear an answer in that pleased little purr. “Just decided—you’re my One now, too. Guess I have no choice but to call Luther by his name, since you’re One. He’ll love that!”

More purring, more frantic face rubbing. Klaus can feel a scratchy tongue scraping against his cheek, and he can’t help the giggle that comes out of him. His kitten startles at the noise, pulling back with a small trill and lifting her paw to press it against his mouth.

“Absolutely adorable,” he tries to praise around the paw. The fluffball lifts its other paw to join the first. “Impeccable. Just sensational,” he murmurs, trying hard not to move his lips.

The cat headbutts him in the nose, lovingly. When Klaus moves his hands up a little, bringing the kitty even closer to him, almost pressed against his cheek, it lets its paws drop.

“I’m gonna give you a different name, not just One. Something as cute as you are,” he says absently. “Klaus would get too confusing, even if it is the most adorable name out there.” He winks at his new buddy. “And Klausette just doesn’t have the right ring to it.”

He settles his back against the dumpster a little more firmly. This is a conversation that might take a while.

“Okay, are you a boy kitty? A girl? Both, neither, or option E?”

The fluff chirps.

“Dude, same,” Klaus says. “I’m mostly option A with a little E thrown in for good measure. We could give you something gender neutral, so you’re always chill. Something like Alex. Or Goliath, Eater of Worlds.”

But then he lifts the cat, ignoring an indignant little squeal, and decides that he’s holding a girl kitty. He gives her a few more pets, and says “I promise that I’ll never Peeping Tom on you again.”

The cat settles against him calmly enough, but he still continues with, “Not that you’re not the most beautiful fluff I’ve ever seen, but you’re just not my type.” And he kisses the top of her head, to make double-sure that she isn’t offended.

He says, “You can rub my right cheek if you’re more of an Alex, and my left if you’re more of a Goliath, World Devourer and Badass.” 

Of course, she careens straight into his nose, purring up a storm. He sighs, a little dreamy and a little exasperated. “Taking after me already, huh? Ain’t shoving you into any boxes.” He rubs his face against her absently.

 _Or mausoleums_ , he thinks.

“Okay,” he says. “How about— _Fyra_. You know—it sounds like of like fear, ‘cause you’re a brave little trooper, coming up to me like this. But it also translates to _four_ , ‘cause you and me are a team.”

Klaus is pretty sure that Fyra would purr no matter what he said, but he interprets this particular purr as _Klaus you poetic genius, it’s like you’ve reached into my cat-soul and sculpted my essence into a name. Bravo._

“So cute,” he coos helplessly, and spends the last few minutes of his high with his face trapped firmly beneath a soft cat tummy.

He may have dozed off a bit in that dumpster, with his new kitten, because he only becomes alert again when someone slams their fist against their dumpster. 

“I’m tired of you fuckers stinking up my alley,” a rather large man snarls, not noticing the tortured moans of the dead that surround him. “Get the fuck out, and if I see one of you back here again, I’m calling the cops.”

Klaus says, “I practically am the cops, dude,” while he shakes and scrambles a little to get out of the dumpster, Fyra cradled against his heart.

“Jesus kid, high as a fucking kite when you gotta be about nine years old? Your ma must be a real lady.”

Klaus thinks of Grace and says, “Oh, the loveliest lady I know,” before he scampers out of the ally and calls back, “She’s got your mom beat, at least.”

Fyra doesn’t startle even a little on his sprint back to the castle, even when he giggles right into her little ear.

He manages up the ladder to the dormitory wing, even with his little girl tucked into the small pocket of his suit jacket. And he manages to get into his room with nobody spotting him _(and no Dad waiting for him, which means that nobody noticed his absence and why does that hurt as much as it relieves him?)._

It’s only when he sets Fyra down on his bedspread _(Mom musta made the bed, ‘cause I sure didn’t)_ that it hits him.  
“How the fuck am I gonna hide a cat from the nosiest family in the entire universe?”

Fyra mews, and Klaus does what he always does when he needs A Plan.

He goes to Ben.


	2. Cat Tummies Are The Most Effective Form Of Manipulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fyra is fed and Ben's on board.
> 
> Klaus is just Klaus, as per usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may wonder: How Long Can This Author Go On and On About Cats And Hargreeves Family Dynamics And Trauma?
> 
> Well, buckle in folks. This is going to be longer than it has any right to be.
> 
> Now Including: Links to Cute Cat Pics

“You’ll like Ben,” Klaus says to the [dirty kitten](https://66.media.tumblr.com/a04bf2e4ab77751394f791156434f7ae/tumblr_messaging_pozx7zekpe1raywnf_250.png) on his bed. He doesn’t even bother to lower his voice; everyone in the house is used to him talking to himself.

_If that’s what you can call the littany of no-please-shutup-please-leavemealone-please-please that comes out of his room most nights. Either way, it doesn’t seem like the others pay any attention to it._

Fyra gives a small trill of interest, but most of her attention seems to be on the blanket beneath her paws. She kneads her baby claws into it, purring happily.

“Softer than a dumpster, isn’t it?” Klaus asks softly. “But that doesn’t always mean it’s better.”

Fyra keeps kneading. “Ben is also softer than a dumpster. But he’s the best in the world.”

Fyra’s big green eyes look up at that, and her body careens to the side until she’s laying down.

“Besides me,” he clarifies. “I’m still your favorite. Even if Ben’s hair is really fluffy, like yours.”

Fyra shoves her head against the bed. Klaus manfully ignores the grimy streak that now decorates his bedspread. Even when she rolls onto her back, flashing her stomach to the sky and stretching out. Her back paws rise into the air a little, and her claws flex out.

“Okay, do me a favor. I need you to look just like that when we talk to Benjamin Cute-As-A-Button. Any less cute and he’ll yell at us. Any more cute, and you’ll threaten his position at the top of the cute-Hargreeves-hierarchy, and he’ll kick us out on principal.”

Fyra doesn’t move, but she gives him a slow blink _._

He sighs, and curls himself around Fyra on the bed. He inhales, and gives a mournful sigh.

“I’m gonna have to give you a bath before introductions.”

Fyra gives him a sleepy _mrrrp_. The mrrp falls into a slow and steady purr as Klaus drags a light hand down her back, nails scraping down carefully.

Klaus marvels a little, at how much she’s trusting him. She’s tucked against his body, the body of a near-stranger, in a brand new environment and she’s falling asleep. His fingers are shaking a little as he skims them carefully over her furry face.

She pushes against his hand in her sleep, and the warmth in his gut has nothing to do with the hot summer air.

_It’s just that she’s so tiny_ , he thinks. _Vulnerable_.

Vulnerable means Luther’s face, stiff with resolve and soft with unspoken apology, as he sinks a fist into Klaus’ gut. Vulnerable means Diego, stock-still with fear as Father grows impatient waiting for Diego to hit the target right behind Klaus’ head. Vulnerable means Allison’s whispered Rumor in his ear, Five scoffing at his answers in class, and the click of Vanya’s stopwatch.

Vulnerable is Father closing the door of the mausoleum. Vulnerable is the fact that none of them ever just stood down, and vulnerable is the fact that Klaus keeps coming back anyways.

And this little puff of a kitten trusts him. Flashes her belly, closes her eyes, goes boneless under his hands— _trusts him_.

He doesn’t tear up, because he’s long-since decided that his sobs are reserved for the acoustically-atrocious stone walls of his mausoleum.

And he doesn’t think about the fact that nobody had ever shown him this kind of open and easy affection, ever ever ever.

Until now.

Klaus taps his index finger against Fyra’s nose a few times, softly softly so softly. “You hungry, little buddy?”

His throat is thick, and the words are a little choked, but Fyra doesn’t look bothered as her eyes blink awake again.

She yawns, and blinks again. Yeah, she’s hungry.

“Stay right here, button.”

Klaus pulls away from Fyra’s sleeping body, and pads over to his door. Before he opens it, he turns around and faux-whispers, “Cats like tuna, right? Or—all fish?”

Fyra doesn’t answer, but she does stretch out again. She takes up a humorously small portion of his bed—anyone peering in would probably mistake her for a stray sock.

Klaus skips out into the hallway, making sure to close the door behind him. He passes by Ben’s room, and he can hear the dull arrhythmic thumping that usually means his Belly-Buddies are thrashing around while Ben sleeps.

He makes a few turns, careful to stay relatively quiet, and winds up at Mom’s picture-wall. She straightens up as he approaches, and turns to him with a placid smile.

“Did you have a nightmare, darling?” She asks, and Klaus is almost positive that he can hear genuine concern in her voice.

“No,” he says, because Diego is the only one that goes to her with nightmares anymore.

Klaus had stopped once he realized that Father had been using suspiciously effective taunts in his ‘training’. Klaus would rather lay in bed, sweating and shaking and afraid on his own than have his Father ‘motivate’ him with visions of OneTwoThreeFiveSixSeven with gory ghost-inspired wounds carved into their skin.

“That’s a relief,” she says softly. “Is there anything else that I can help you with, my Klaus?”

“Salmon!” he exclaims with a sudden and manic grin, and does not elaborate.

“Midnight snacks aren’t a part of your training program, Klaus,” she reminds him gently. Only Luther gets midnight snacks, and it doesn’t even count because the only thing that he’s allowed to ‘snack on’ is a premade nutrition bar that Pogo came up with.

But Klaus thinks back to all of the times that his Mom had snuck food into Five’s room when he had been banished from the dinner table, because she hadn’t received explicit instructions not to. He thinks about Mom holding Diego’s face between her hands, something soft and sweet on her face as she tells him how proud she is.

“I am not going to eat it,” he declares. “So it’s not technically a midnight snack.” _And you don’t have to report it to Father._

Grace’s neutral smile widens into a grin, and there’s something sly in her tone when she says, “Of course, darling. We keep the salmon in the icebox. I can unlock it electronically, for the next ten minutes. Does that suit you?”

Klaus wiggles a little as he brightens up, and Mom glows under her skin, as she tends to do when something pleases her. Klaus pulls her into a gleeful little hug. When he draws away, he lifts his arm into the air—going on his tiptoes to achieve Maximum Height—and Mom twirls under his outstretched arm, more graceful than any human dancer.

Klaus grins when Mom giggles, and her skirt flares out. And he grins even harder when, after she regains her balance, she lifts her own arm to mirror his previous actions. Klaus whoops a little as he spins, less graceful but much more energetic.

“Right,” he beams as he backs away. “I’m gonna salmon, gonna grab some completely inedible salmon, salmon that I cannot eat. Night, mom!”

Grace sits back down on her perch, and her posture goes stiff again. In contrast, the smile on her face has a fond tilt to it.

Klaus spins on the spot and speed-skips down the hall again. The kitchen isn’t far from Mom’s Wall, but he doesn’t want to risk missing his unlock-window.

He tries to slide into the kitchen, momentarily forgetting that he’s wearing shoes instead of just socks. The resulting squeaky noise has him cringing, and then freezing.

Nobody wakes up.

Klaus moves towards the icebox as he habitually ignores the two women that always lurk in the corners of the kitchen.

He pries open the box. A few dead fish eyes stare out at him from the left side—Klaus ignores how one of them is still flopping around despite confirmed deadness, thankful that at least ghost fish can't groan—and there are labelled bags on the right.

He bypasses the whole fish, because Fyra simply looks too little to be any good at tearing fish to pieces, and it’s not like Klaus wants to do it on his own.

He grabs a plastic baggie labelled ‘ _Salmon_ ’, carefully closes the icebox (hearing the lock click back in place), and heads on back to the dormitory wing.

Fyra is still asleep on his bed when he opens the door to his room, but she perks up when he throws himself on the bed next to her.

He yanks his bag open, and [Fyra almost immediately begins swatting at his hands](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/7f/e7/ad/7fe7ad592f2ca9e54877696009e3496c--cute-black-cats-black-kittens.jpg).

“Uh-huh, this is for you, my little baby babe,” he croons. “Nothing but gourmet for _my_ cuddle buddy.”

Fyra is not patient enough for Klaus’s efforts. She sticks her head right into the fish-bag, and whines when Klaus pulls her out.

“You’re gonna get garbage-grime on your food, little one. That is not yummy,” he tuts, tearing a small piece of the fillet off and holding it out to Fyra.

She pounces, and his hand is pinned underneath her small body as she mouths frantically at the salmon on his finger.

Klaus melts. “A ferocious feline,” he says with delight. “A predator baby.”

She swallows down the salmon, and licks at the pad of his finger. She doesn’t release his hand, so he has to maneuver his other hand into the bag to get out more salmon. When she notices, she pounces from the left hand to the right, and continues her meal.

He wishes that he had a camera. Maybe he’d procure one the next time that he went out.

Their meal continues just like that for a while: Fyra jumping from hand to hand with clear enthusiasm while Klaus ignores the bite of her small teeth. Occasionally, he’ll wave his salmon-finger around before she can pin it, and she’ll chase it until he gives in.

He forces her to slow down as they approach the end of the bag, and her movements grow sluggish. 

“Done?” he asks, after scooping out the last of it. She sends him a mournful  _ mew _ . She licks at the last bit of salmon on his finger, but she doesn’t bite

“I bet all of that work made you thirsty,” Klaus says absently. “Okay. Food, water, shelter, and petting. Is there anything else that Daddy Four needs to provide?”

He lifts her once again, and she trills indignantly. “Oh hush, we’re gonna go get you a bath. And a drink.”

The explanation doesn’t placate her, and she gnaws on his finger for the entire walk to the communal bathroom.

He closes the door behind him, and leans against it. It doesn’t lock. If he wants this to be private, he’ll have to lean against it the entire time.

“So here’s how it’s gonna go,” he whispers. “I am going to let the sink drip, and you’re gonna drink. That way, you won’t drink your bath water later.” He tries to look stern. It does not work. “Got it?”

She licks at her filthy hind leg. It is not promising.

Klaus sighs. “Well, I guess you know cat etiquette better than me. And haven’t we all used bathwater to swallow down a few pills? Who am I to judge?”

He turns the water on in the sink. Fyra’s ears twitch against his chest, so he sets her down on the sink’s edge. She slinks towards the stream and then bats her paw against the water a few times. Apparently satisfied with what she’s found, she sticks her whole head under the faucet.

“Okay,” says Klaus. “I can dig that feel.” He can see her lapping up the water while [she’s de-facto showering](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d2/81/8c/d2818c226acd6a6f7680a38772105e28.jpg), so he counts that as a win.

While he’s waiting for her to water-up, Klaus makes the executive decision to steal Vanya’s shampoo to wash Fyra’s fur. Vanya still uses baby shampoo on her hair because it’s so fine, and Fyra is definitely a baby.

He wets his hands by giving Fyra a quick pet, and then pours a dollop of shampoo on his hands, He works it into a lather, and then pulls Fyra out of the sink’s spray so that he can work it into her fur.

She does not appreciate this, judging by her agitated wiggles and aggravated hiss. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Klaus chants as he rinses her off in the sink again. The water that runs off her her is gross, and bits of something are collecting in the sink. Klaus does not let himself think about it.

Fyra lets out another hiss, and Klaus immediately lets her down. “Done! You’re clean!”

She sneezes, and then reels back as if she was startled by her own sneeze. And then she takes a dainty step out of the sink, peering down at the floor with curiosity. And, because Klaus has apparently corrupted her in such a short time, she tries to leap down.

“Nooo,” Klaus howls, diving for her little black body. He grabs her in time, but his bony ass also falls right onto the tile floor.

He yelps in pain before lifting Fyra to look her in the eye. He opens his mouth to scold her, and then—

There’s a knock on the door.

Klaus freezes. He looks at Fyra. Fyra looks back.

He holds a single finger up to his lips.

“Four?” Allison calls quietly from the hallway.

Klaus is silent.

“I know you’re in there, Four,” She says, sounding annoyed now.

Oh.

“Uh, yeah?”

“You’re banging around a lot in there. You okay?,” she asks through the door. And maybe Klaus would open the door for her, invite her into his new secret, if he thought even for one second that she was willing (able?) to lie for him.

“I’m—a face mask,” he says. “Haven’t you ever heard of self-care?”

Allison pauses. “You’re lying,” she says decisively. “Is that a euphemism?”

“Sure,” he says, perking up.  Allison isn’t a voyeur, probably, and Klaus just really wants her gone.

“Self-care, self-love, jerking off—It’s all the same thing, really.”

He doesn’t put any particular effort into the lie. Allison is always ready to believe the worst of him, and this isn’t even that bad.

He can hear her gag in the hall, and it’s a testament to his desperation that he doesn’t even feign offense at that.

“We share that bathroom, Four!” Allison sounds indignant. Resigned.

It’s the tone that she usually takes with him.

“Wow, we sure do!” He chirps, sounding appropriately careless.

Allison is silent. Then: “I heard a rumor that you’re not allowed to...jerk off...in our bathroom.”

The Rumor doesn’t wash over him in the way it usually does. His tongue doesn’t stick to the roof of his mouth, like he just said something that she doesn’t like. His legs don’t lock together underneath him, like they do in training. And his mind doesn’t cloud over, erasing and rewriting and erasing again, like when she catches him going through her makeup.

Probably because she’s not actively stopping him from doing anything right now.

Klaus groans, and Allison gags again in the hall. “C’mon, everyone does it. That’s why Mom made that twenty minute limit on showers.”

“You’re lying,” Allison says. “And also depraved. I’m going to bed—and don’t touch my stuff in there! My eyeshadow went missing last week, and I know that it was you!”

“Promise,” he says, voice getting a little higher in his desperation. “Won’t touch a thing. Now please _please_ go away.”

Klaus can hear her grumbling move down the hall, and he relaxes against the door..

Klaus looks at Fyra. “You see what I just gave up for you?” He asks, mournfully.

Fyra brushes her face against Klaus’ sternum, which he figures is an appropriate payment.

“You look like a moist goblin when you’re like this,” Klaus says, still a little bitter. Fyra looks up with her big green eyes, and Klaus grabs a towel to dry her off. “But you make it look good, sweetie.”

She purrs, as if that is simply her due.

 

* * *

 

So, here’s the thing about Ben: Klaus is 100% certain that Ben will not tell anyone else about Fyra. If nothing else, he can trust his brother to stay silently complicit in whatever Klaus brings to him.

But Klaus doesn’t want Ben to just keep his mouth shut. Klaus wants Ben to co-parent this cat,

Now, if Ben didn’t have bloodthirsty eldritch horrors under his skin that sometimes poked about as he slept—Klaus would just let Fyra loose in Ben’s room. Ben would wake up with a purring baby on his chest, fall in love, and then come to Klaus to help hide her from everyone else. Klaus might or might not reveal that he was the one to find her, and they’d ride off into the sunset on their new cat.

But Ben does have monsters in his gut, so he would probably wake up to the eviscerated remains of a kitten in his bed. So Klaus isn’t going to do that.

Instead, he’s gonna knock on Ben’s bedroom door as quietly as he can, until the sound of tentacles thumping is replaced by Ben’s feet padding to the door.

“Klaus?” he whispers, sleepily confused. “Nightmare?”

It’s not an unusual assumption to make. Klaus would sometimes pester Ben into staying up with him all night, because he couldn’t sleep. Either because he was too energetic to rest, or because he was afraid of what he’d see when he closed his eyes.

Ben rarely returns the favor, but Klaus keeps his bedroom door slightly ajar anyways. Just in case Ben ever wants company.

Klaus shoves past Ben and into his room, making very loud shushing noises and motioning frantically for him to close the door again.

Ben does so, and then turns to face Klaus again wearily.

“Can’t I just sleep for—” Ben starts.

“Nope!” Klaus interjects, and then starts to pull up his shirt.

“Again?” Ben asks. “I’m sure that it’s just a birthmark or something, people don’t have three nipples.” But his wary expression pushes into something more alert when Klaus pulls a cat out from under his shirt.

“Check it, Benny!” Klaus exclaims, hefting [Fyra up into the air with his hands](http://iruntheinternet.com/lulzdump/images/awkward-family-photo-holding-up-cat-13733043222.jpg?id=) wrapped around her belly. She looks startled to suddenly be eye-to-eye with another person.

Ben stares as if he has never seen a kitten before. And, now that Klaus is thinking about it—where would Ben have seen a kitten before?

Ben, without tearing his eyes away from Fyra, says “Klaus?” in a funny tone of voice.

“This is Fyra. She’s our new mascot. A secret mascot.”

Ben hunches over a little so that his face is right in front of Fyra’s. “You stole a kitten?” he asks, mostly impassive. Still, Klaus can detect a hint of exasperation in his brother’s tone.

Fyra stares, and then stretches a delicate paw out until it bops Ben on the nose.

Ben reels back.

“She likes you!” Klaus exclaims, delighted.

“She hit me!” Ben argues immediately.

“A small hit. A boop, even!” Klaus says, a pleading note seeping into his voice.

“We can’t have a cat, Klaus,” Ben says. “First of all, Dad would kill us.”

“And that, my dear brother, is why she is a _secret_ mascot. Our eyes only. Dad would never know!”

“Second of all, Luther is allergic.”

“Really?” Klaus asks, immediately intrigued. “That’s gotta be a point in the plus column though, right?”

“Hey. We _like_ Luther,” Ben says tiredly. “Luther would do anything for us, and you know it.”

Klaus does not want to have this conversation again. “We do like Luther,” he agrees. “But imagine big Number One, losing to this little baby.”

As if on cue, Fyra lets out a yawn and stretches out her dangling limbs. Klaus swings her from side to side, as if to show Ben how aerodynamic she is. Klaus smiles, proud.

Ben stares helplessly at Fyra.

“We couldn’t keep her a secret,” Ben argues weakly. “Mom still cleans our rooms, there’s no place to keep her.”

Klaus gives Fyra another swing.

“We don’t have a litter box, or cat food,” He says doubtfully.

Klaus steps forward until Fyra is pressed pretty close to Ben’s face again.

Ben goes nearly cross-eyed trying to keep his eyes on hers. “It’s dangerous, for her to be around me a lot.”

Fyra licks his cheek, giving him a small and inquisitive _prrp?_

Klaus nearly crows in victory when Ben brings a hand up, to rub a tentative finger against Fyra’s tummy.

“Our mascot?” Klaus asks, hopefully.

Ben sighs. “The litter is going in your room.”

Klaus pulls Fyra back to his own chest, just so that she presses between him and Ben when Klaus pulls him into an ecstatic hug.

“I dunno how we’re gonna do this,” Ben’s voice is muffled against Klaus’ shoulder.

_How, indeed._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don’t just feed your cats salmon (without research) and wash them with human shampoo. Klaus is just clueless, and Fyra is lucky that she’s a tough little sucker
> 
> this chapter was gonna be much shorter, but ben really didn't want to show up for another few thousand words and i didn't want to leave you guys hanging
> 
> shoutout to @cheerfullycynical and @chewbecca394 for putting up with my endless headcanons and other nonsense. love u!
> 
> i love all of y'all in the comments + kudos, any kind of feedback just absolutely FILLS ME with LOVE

**Author's Note:**

> My girlfriend thought that we should give Klaus a cat, and then we both had a lot of cat ideas. Check out CheerfullyCynicals 'Everybody's Pickin' Up On That Feline Beat', it's so cute <3
> 
> Now the fandom has two 'Klaus Gets A Kitten' fics, and I want to give Klaus a hug.
> 
> Feedback would mean a lot to me!!!


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